The Scar - China Mieville [242]
She would wind through its warren of empty passages, into the forgotten zone of the steamer, to the little cubbyhole that Doul had shown her. And there she would perch, uncomfortable and disturbed, eavesdropping on the fucking and the bedroom talk of the Lovers.
It was a habit that revolted her, but she could not shake off the sly sense of power it gave her. My little rebellion, my little escape—someone’s listening, and you don’t know, she would think, and hear the Lovers mutter wetly to each other and grapple with an abandon that still appalled her.
They never gave her any revelations. They never spoke of anything important. They only rolled and lay together, and murmured their fetishistic connection. The Lover sounded more and more febrile with every night, her voice growing harder, and the Lover debased himself to her, eager to dissolve into her.
I do not want to be here, Bellis thought, fervently and repeatedly. She spoke it aloud, finally, to Carrianne one night, knowing that her friend would not agree.
“I do not want to be here.” Bellis swilled the wine in her glass. “Now there’s nightmares, and what comes next are fugues. I’ve seen it before. And we can’t be heading anywhere that’s any good—and what can happen then? Either we die . . . or the Lovers get control of the most . . . terrible, terrible power. Would you really trust them, Carrianne?” she demanded drunkenly. “That cut-up fuck and his psychopath woman? You’d trust them with power like that? I do not want to be here.”
“I know, Bellis,” Carrianne said, searching for words. “But I want to see what’s out there. I think this is something amazing, you understand? Whether or not the Lovers get hold of . . . whatever’s there. And no, I don’t really trust them. I’m Dry Fall, remember? But I’ll tell you what . . . Since Hedrigall did a runner, I think there’s a lot of people who are starting to agree with you.”
And Bellis nodded in sudden surprise, and raised her glass in a toast. Carrianne responded sardonically.
She’s right, thought Bellis suddenly. Godsdammit, she’s fucking right. Something’s changing.
The avanc began to slow.
Perhaps ten days after Armada entered the Hidden Ocean, people began to notice.
At first it was Bastard John, the menfish and the cray, Tanner Sack and the other few upsiders who still swam. It was growing easier for them to keep up with the city. At the end of a few hours’ immersion, skittering below the city’s barnacle-scaled underside, their muscles burned less than they would have expected. They were not traveling so far, so fast.
It was not long before the air-breathing citizens noticed. Without land, in cryptic seas, it was not so easy to chart the distances the city was traveling. But there were methods.
Something was happening to the mile-long creature hidden in the deep. Something had changed. The avanc was slowing down.
At first it was hoped that it was a temporary change, that the avanc’s pace would increase again. But the days went on, and still the beast slowed.
With delight and triumph, Johannes found himself suddenly back in favor. His old team was reassembled by the Lovers, to make sense of what was happening.
Bellis was surprised to discover that he still talked to her and Carrianne about his work, now that he had been brought back into the inner circle.
“There can’t be anyone in the city who hasn’t noticed,” he told them one night, exhausted and mystified. “The Lovers are waiting for us to solve it.” He shook his head. “Even Aum can’t fathom it. The rockmilk engine’s still controlling it; the avanc’s still traveling . . . It’s just slowing.”
“Something in the Hidden Ocean?” suggested Bellis.
Johannes bit his lip. “Doesn’t make sense,” he said. “What in Bas-Lag can fuck with an avanc?”
“It must be sickening,” said Carrianne,